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Underneath

By: dchatterly



It was New Years Eve 1992 when I chose the man who would consummate my infidelity. My husband had been right. I was a pure woman with desires running far beyond that, which could be offered within the confines of marriage to one man. At twenty-nine years old: I felt incomplete, sold short, and consequently naïve in the physical aspects of sex that were exalted so much in modern culture. 

Derek - my husband - was forcibly loud mouthed at times, and, in company, displayed the sickening signs of an over-baring false bravado. Not true to his quite submissive nature when alone in my clutches. If his similarly moulded friends knew of his lack of ability when it came to 'seeing to' his wife, he'd most definitely be on the wrong end ridicule, of that I am sure. Something I'm certain he could never live down. I on the other hand, exhibited obedience, sweetness and a quiet compliance to his every command. If only people knew of his wish for me to have my cunt worshipped by somebody deserving, somebody that could do for me all that was most obviously beyond him. 

It was watching him on this New Years Eve that forced me into taking the initiative. We attended a dance with a group of friends, of the traditional sort for here in Scotland. As you would expect, on this special occasion, many gentlemen adorned kilts, proudly displaying their family colours, enjoying the country dancing; twirling to the pipes and fiddles. 

We sat in a corner table, a group of us, drinking and chatting over the musical cacophony. Derek and his bunch of tumultuous acquaintances jeered uproariously at the men dressed in their traditional costumes. They pointed and heckled as the line of dancing figures swaying past our table. 

'Have you got your knickers on?' I heard him yell, in an embarrassingly loud fashion. Hoops of laughter ensued from amidst our table. I had to conceal my face in discomfort at this unnecessary exhibition. One or two of the other females agreed with me and tried to quieten their partners down, but this seemed to impel them to make more of a show. The drunken hollering seldom ceased for a moment. One of the men raced from his chair and joined the line, screeching, 'Donald where's yer troosers,' and tugging at the kilts as they passed him by. I sat with Derek, as he literally exploded with laughter at his friend’s antics. 

'Stop it for Christ’s sake,' I told him, but he screwed his face up mocking my visible annoyance. 

As the evening wore on, myself, and some of the other wives started to join in the traditional dancing. It was fun, shuffling down the middle of the two lines of smiling cheering people, genuinely enjoying themselves, clapping hands outrageously; the males linking your arm in turn, twirling you around and criss-crossing back and fourth. 

When the dancing finally ceased, I slumped back into my chair exhausted, and determined that Derek was not going to alter my now cheerful mood. He continued knocking back copious amounts of drink along with his dubious mates. The other women at the table chatted about this and that, and as the time approached midnight, I found myself hopelessly merry. 

At the bells, everyone, except Derek and his mob, took once again to the busy dance-floor. We arranged ourselves into a boy-girl circle and started the countdown. I had two men on either side, one holding each of my hands, swinging arms, and enjoying the fun of the moment. 

"I'm Ian," one of them hollered into my ear. It was the same lad whom Derek had been ridiculing earlier on for wearing a kilt. I smiled, excited by the anticipation of the rapidly approaching New Year. 

"Hiya," I managed to reply over the countdown. "I'm Jane." He grabbed my hand tighter and joined in with the final numbers. 

"FIVE, FOUR THREE TWO ONE…………" 

The cheering began along with an array of voices singing Auld Lang Syne. As the lights flashed, I was kissed on the cheek by one of the men who held a hand, then Ian turned from pecking the woman on his other side and bent down to take his turn in the traditional kiss with me. Admittedly, I did have my cheek positioned to receive a simple kiss, but as his face approached, I turned to meet his lips with my own. The kiss merely lingered for a second, but his eyes fixed on mine for moments after we broke off. It was a serious look, a flirtatious flash, revealing a lot more than words can here. I eventually allowed a smile to surface, which Ian reciprocated instantly. 

The dancing went on well past the hour before Ian suggested we stop for refreshment. Whilst we waited at the bar for service, Derek staggered up to me and announced he'd had enough and was going to our room. He slurred and stuttered his words as he attempted to talk me into going along with him. My refusal was greeted with mild indignation, brought about solely by the amount he had drunk. 

"Oh what the hell," he finally spurted out. Just as he was about to turn and leave, he spied Ian standing in front of me. "Hey look everyone!" he yelled. "It's the man with the dress on. What have you done with yer troosers mate?" He proceeded to grab the back of Ian's kilt and lift it up. Ian tried to muster a laugh, but the fact he was minus any underwear was revealed for a brief moment. I grabbed Derek's arm and hauled him away. 

"God I'm so sorry about this Ian" I held onto Derek's arm and ushered him away. "I'll just take this cretin up to the room and be back down in a minute." Ian didn't seem embarrassed or bothered about the incident, and I smiled and stepped hurriedly away. 


I obtained the room key from reception and assisted Derek upstairs. Once in the room, he slumped heavily on the bed, and I went into toilet to pee and check my makeup. 

Sitting on the toilet seat, I realised straight away that I was decidedly wet between my legs. My mind swirled to what the reason for this could be. I had been enjoying Ian's company, but no illicit thoughts had entered my head even whilst we had danced closely. Then the image of what had been revealed under his kilt came to me. Surely that couldn't be the reason for my current state. It was just a quick glimpse, and I am never one to be visually aroused in any way. But what I had seen had definitely fired up my curiosity. Although his cock had been in a limp state, there had been so much of it, that it must be the reason. I think that the fact I knew he had been paying me special interest despite all the attractive single women who were present downstairs, combined with the fact I now knew he was free from underwear must be it. 

When I finished peeing, I decided to remove my panties completely. I didn't put any thought into this act, it just felt the right, and a sexy thing to do to match my mood. Before pulling my skirt back down over my lap, I viewed my legs and pubic area in the full-length mirror. God I was feeling horny - there was no doubting that now. I couldn't recall the last occasion I felt like this. As I lingered a look at myself, I adjusted my stockings higher up my legs, and gently ran a finger down between my dark patches of pubic hair. It eased inwards, and entered the wetness in the centre. One finger - that was all it was - but I tingled all over from the feeling the simple touch evoked. Rather than wash my hand, I wiped the digit clean on the top of one stocking - suddenly aware of the sweet scent that arose. I repositioned my skirt, paused to retain my composure and went back into the bedroom. 

Derek was moaning about not feeling well; lying on his back, he'd removed his shoes, but struggled to undo the belt on his trousers. He looked vacantly at the ceiling then gave up on any success with the belt. 

"Oh God, you're pathetic," I whispered under my breath, and moved to help him undress. I undid his shirt and he tried to help me pull it over his shoulders. I left him to finish pulling it off his arms, and unbuckled his belt quickly. He moved about in order to make the task of removing his trousers easier. With both hands, I grappled with them, and finally pulled them over his raised ankles and feet. 

"I'm going back down," I told him, then waited for a response. The boxer shorts he wore were twisted about, and his thin cock poked out the side. My mind visualised it next to the Ian's. Without doubt, Ian should be the one laughing at him, not vice versa. I continued to stare, suddenly aware for the first time, the reason why I didn't get much satisfaction from his poor attempt at lovemaking. Six years of marriage, six years void of satisfaction, six years of kidding myself on. In the early days of our marriage, he would constantly state that I was the one unable to relax sufficiently in order to climax. The fact I didn't feel any friction as we fucked I had always viewed as my own fault. No one ever told me that the size of the man would make any difference - in fact the opposite was always quoted; 'it's not the size that counts, but what you do with it'. Maybe that was true, in which case Derek did not know what to do with it. Simple logic. But I had noticed that in recent weeks, he had showed signs of his submissive side surfacing - acknowledging our incompatibility whilst he pointlessly slid his thin cock into me - observing how expressionless I remained throughout. 

His response finally surfaced, "Don't be long honey," he whispered, far from complete consciousness. "I think I need some attention. Do you want it baby?" 

"Yes I want it Derek, " I responded. "But, I wouldn't mind it a little better fitting tonight. Feel how wet I am." I took one of his hands and directed it between my legs. His eyes instantly sparked back to life. 

"Oh God Honey it is." He unfurled a finger and it slid so easily into my body - suddenly aware of that fact I was free from any panties. "Are you going back down like that?" 

I nodded; a slow exaggerated motion that I'm sure got my message across better than any words. His planted finger began to revolve inside me; the fact that I was soaking down there didn't change how obvious his skill at this lacked something. Surely any woman in this high state of physical arousal, could be brought off by any man with a little know how. But it wasn't happening here, and I had to remove his hand to ensure that I wouldn't dry up. "I'm off downstairs again, to apologise to Ian for your vulgar behaviour, and I'm taking my wet cunt with me." 

As soon as I was back in the down in the party, I found Ian patiently waiting for me, holding the drinks he'd bought. 

"I wasn't sure if you'd come back or not," he said, smiling as I greeted him. He handed me a drink. "I got you a double." 

"Thanks, I need it," I replied. "Being married to that idiot takes its toll sometimes. I'm so sorry about before." 

Ian nodded. "That's alright," he began. "Some men don't like kilts at all." 

"Oh don't dare refer to him as a man Ian, he's shown full well that he's not that." He laughed, and lifted his glass towards mine. 

"Here's to the New Year," he said. "Hope it's a good one, and brings all you desire." 

Suddenly all my desires came into focus. Suddenly my focus was apparent. I clanked my glass gratefully against his. 

The next half hour passed too fast. Our eyes never left one and other. I found myself succumbing even further to the charms of the man whose I company I'd found myself in. But the call came for those guests who were not residents in the hotel to leave. Ian lifted his jacket from the back of his char, all the time keeping me entranced with a deep luring smile. 

"Well it has been a nice evening, but all good things…" he started to say. 

"Oh no Ian don't go, please." 

"It's chucking out time it seems," he replied. 

"I know it is, " I replied with a sigh. "But does it have to be for you?" 

"I don't have a room booked in the hotel," he replied with an equal amount of dejection. "You do but I don't" 

"Your welcome to stay in mine." 

The pause said it all, the pause that turned to an inquisitive frown. Ian's eyes never left mine. "What do you mean?" he asked, knowing full well what I meant. 

"Time to get your own back on Derek." I casually remarked and outstretched a hand towards him. 

Not requiring a second invitation, my open gesture was received with a hand placed on my own. We weaved between the departing guests, silently but hastily towards my hotel room. 

Ian wasn't embarrassed when confronted with Derek turning around and facing us after I tapped his shoulder. He had managed to get himself under the bedclothes and was asleep or feigning sleep when we approached through the dimly lit bedroom. I still held Ian's hand. 

"I brought Derek up for you to apologise in person," I told him as he viewed us through semi shut eyes. 

"Sorry mate," he stammered right away. Derek shrugged his shoulders but didn't speak back. 

"Have you got a problem with men in kilts?" I then asked, not happy with the sincerity of his apology. I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Ian towards me. "Look honey." 

Ian stood above me, I positioned a leg on either side of his legs and, placing a hand on each of his ankles, slowly moved them upwards until they disappeared under the sides of his kilt. My skirt had dragged up over my lap to display the flesh above my stocking tops. Ian's thick legs felt good to the touch, solid and rough where the hair was abundant. My eyes closed as my hands reached his waistline, both of them simultaneously moving back until contact was made with his tightly clenched buttocks. I continued to allow my hands to circle each one, lingering upon the tight muscle upon them, taking a moment to get to know the curve and firmness every area offered. Ian's arms linked around my shoulders, his body motioned forward and I could feel each minute thrust by the way his rear tightened in my hands. The kilt was lifted slightly at each side but still restraining an obvious obtrusion at the front. I parted my legs further and allowed his forward momentum to bring him in closer. From underneath his kilt, I directed my hands to lift the material, slowly uncovering more of his bare legs. Expecting to catch sight of his manhood momentarily, my breathing instinctively increased. To my surprise, as I lifted the kilt material further, It didn't immediately come into view. Strongly muscled thighs appeared, but my hands, still concealed underneath, moved into the last remaining concealed area. Another of my senses was introduced to what yet was unseen. The touch of my warm hands met an equally warm presence. Not sure as to the extent of solid object they had found, the fingers of each curled around it. The circle they moulded into wouldn't meet - the firmness they encountered wouldn't deflect. I didn't need to see anything to know what I now knew. Here was the introduction to infidelity that I craved. 

Something I always believed that didn't come naturally to me is the desire to take a man in my mouth. How completely wrong I was. My own in-built rules didn't seem to register; it suddenly seemed the natural step to take. With the kilt up as high as possible, I could finally understand why women felt it necessary to perform this act. With a fair amount of force I used both hands to direct the object of attention towards my blood filled lips. In one easy movement, I tightened them over the glistening head. My mouth watered as I tasted the scent of his sex. My head was instructing me just to tease and play with the end, but I couldn't resist taking it deep. My hunger grew as I sucked, my patience faltered as I heard Ian moan in delight of my action. I wanted so desperately to flood my mouth with his fluid. My hands assisted, working at the base, feeling the veins pulse as more blood rushed and managed to harden the area further. Between moans of my own, stifled by what delved close to my throat, I allowed my eyes to briefly wander to my husbands lust filled face. He could never have imagined his wife enjoying such a moment. I was concerned that if Ian came now, I may have to make do with Derek's quick lived lovemaking and so could end up unfulfilled. If Ian got embarrassed he may disappear before recovering sufficiently to finish what he'd started. 

My worries gave way as I felt his body tighten evoking turbulent rippling spasms; he was ejaculating, and I concentrated on making the joyous moment last. The warm liquid came up against the back of my throat, each spurt making it further and coating it completely. I wanted to swallow, but needed to keep sucking until I had every drop. Ian groaned above me, and his arms pressed into my shoulders where they had remained throughout. When my mouth was finally separated from his cock, I closed it to ensure I never lost any of the beautiful liquid he'd deposited there. In one gulp I had ingested every last drop. 

"Now my love." I heard Ian whisper. His hands were upon my legs, gliding over the thin stocking material. He gripped a hand on the back of each thigh and pulled me upwards. Surprised, but grateful to him for taking control, I relaxed and allowed him to position me over the tip of his cock. He teased me with a wide mouth kiss, placing his tongue where moments before had been full of the residue of desire. I was more than surprised when he eased my weight down and gently let gravity join us together. A surge of adrenaline leapt around my insides. The feeling of being filled, a new experience, overwhelmed my entirety. My vaginal walls greeted the feeling with gratitude, thanking me by setting free pulses that undulated to the tips of my fingers. This was an orgasm, I instantly knew. I recognised the alien feeling that should be familiar to every woman. Despite this climax, I craved more, and knew I would never again make do with Derek's poor imitation of sex. 

Ian continued to lift and drop me, controlling each movement with a thrust of his own making. It quickened, along with my panting eventually turning into shrieks. The rough material of his kilt brushed my bare rear, the coarse fabric adding a sensation to the increasing, frantic coupling. My own skirt was up around my waist; my legs were locked around him. He lifted me up still in this position and we bucked for a few minutes. I saw Derek lying motionless, his cock, now limp on his lap with a string of semen still joined to the end. He had brought himself off whilst watching us, that was my saving grace - he wouldn't need my attentions later on, or ever again.

Underneath a Hard Exterior



It all started when Ryan first got a job at a theme park. He was going to be working in one of the busiest stores around. There wasn't anything special about Ryan. He was an average male, in his early 30's, with short brown hair and deep brown eyes. There was something about him that drew him to Megan. It could have been that he was quiet and didn't say much, and Megan was someone who needed to know everyone and their story. Megan had worked in the store since it opened. She basically ran it with her eyes closed. Megan was 22 years old and just 4 feet and 11 inches and tiny, with brown long flowing hair. Her eyes were a glowing hazel that turned green when the light hit them just right. 

Megan would try and talk to Ryan whenever she could, but she would never get much out of him, which led her to pushing harder. Finally she broke his shell and he started to open up. They started working more and more together and she would pick on him all the time. After a late night work shift, Ryan gave Megan his number and they would text every now and then. And then one night everything changed. 

Ryan texted Megan one night after work, "Hey Megan, do you think we could meet tonight after work, I really need someone to talk to?!"

Megan being the kind hearted girl she was couldn't say no, "Of course, just let me know when!" 

Ryan replied "I get off at 7, and we can meet at the park and hang out, how's that sound?" 

"Perfect!" replied Megan smiling to herself, excited to see Ryan and that Ryan wanted to see her.

Megan started to get ready picking out the perfect outfit. She slid into tight, dark blue skinny jeans and a tightly fitted yellow tank top that perfectly shows off her 38D boobs, and brown sandals. She fluffed her hair in the mirror, double checked her make-up, and spritzed herself with some smell goods, before heading out the door. 

She pulled up and parked and saw Ryan standing there waiting for her, looking hotter than ever, wearing light torn up jeans, and a nicely fitted grey v-neck tee and black Nikes. 

She got out of her car and walked towards him. Once he saw her, his face light up with a smile. Megan smiled back and reached out for a hug. They hug tightly for a while, like neither one wanted to let go. Megan loved the way Ryan felt against her and his smell was even more intoxicating. 

"So how is everything, why did you need to talk?" Megan asked breaking their hug.

"Everything is fine; I just really wanted to see you. I miss you" Ryan said smiling and getting a little flustered. 

Megan felt butterflies in her stomach and her heart start to race. She didn't know if she should feel this way considering the age difference so she was hesitant to reciprocate. 

"I've missed you too," she finally said back. 

"Should we start walking?" she asked pointing towards the park.

Ryan followed behind watching her every movement, the way her hair flowed as she walked and the way her ass swayed back and forth. He wanted her but wasn't sure how she felt about him. She was so young and innocent compared to him. 

A couple hours passed of them riding rides and shopping and talking. 

"Oh the fireworks start in like 5 minutes" Megan squealed, grabbing Ryan's hand and dragging him to a good spot to watch the fireworks.

"Haven't you seen these enough?" Ryan teased Megan as he stood next to her with his arms crossed against his chest.

Megan just stared at him, "It's different when you're not working and you have someone to watch them with" she snapped back. 

As Megan was watching the fireworks, Ryan found himself watching something more beautiful. The glow from the fireworks on Megan's happy face was a sight he couldn't look away from. 

A cool breeze blew through and Megan shivered. Ryan took this as an opportunity to put their bodies together again and wrapped his arms around her from behind. They stood like this until the grand finale of the fireworks. 

As the fireworks were going crazy, Ryan spun Megan around, stared into her eyes and then leaned in for a kiss.

Megan had many thoughts in her head and this moment. 

"Oh my God this is happening...God he's so hott...but wait he's so much more experienced than me..." Finally all thoughts left and she accepted the kiss, melting in his arms and his tongue found its way into her mouth.

As the fireworks ended, their kiss was just heating up. Megan wrapped her arms around his neck and wove her fingers through his hair. Ryan's hands started up in the middle of Megan's back and slowly made their way down to her ass where he carefully placed them in her jean pockets so he was cupping her ass. 

Something brought both of them back to reality and they both stopped kissing, but stood there smiling and staring into each other's eyes not saying a word.

Megan finally broke the silence, "Wow," was all she was capable of saying before starting to giggle like a little school girl.

Ryan stepped back "Wow good or wow bad, the laugh doesn't sound to promising."

Megan finally pulled herself together. "Wow good. That was amazing; I still can't believe it happened!" 

"Believe it baby," Ryan said pulling her close again and giving her one last kiss before grabbing her hand and walking back to the cars. 

Ryan walked Megan to her car, "Thanks for coming to see me" he said as they approached her car.

"Thanks for inviting me" Megan said back, smiling her big smile. "But it doesn't have to end here. Both of my roommates are out of town and it's really lonely back at my place," Megan hinted.

Ryan smiled and opened the driver door to Megan's car and raced over to the other side and got it. 

"I can't have you sitting at home all alone" he said with a wink and a smile.

Megan started the car and they were off, talking the whole way there about anything and everything. They finally pulled into Megan's driveway and got out. 

"This is my place," she said as she unlocked the door and turned the light on. 

Megan sat down on the couch and Ryan followed, 

"Wanna watch a movie?" she asked turning the TV on.

"Yea we can put one on," Ryan said back, knowing they wouldn't watch it for long.

Megan picked out The Hangover and put it in, then joined Ryan back on the couch where he wrapped his arms around her and they cuddled under a blanket. 

About five minutes into the movie, Ryan started softly running his fingers up and down Megan's arm. He pushed one of the straps of her tank top down off her shoulder and laid soft little kisses starting from her shoulder to her neck.

Megan melted into his body as he inched closer to her neck, loving the feeling of his soft lips against her skin. Her heart started racing and her breathing got heavy. 

Ryan got close to her ear and whispered "Did you really want to watch this movie?" 

Megan shook her head as a soft moan left her lips. 

Ryan smiled and got up from behind her and laid her down on the couch, positioning himself between her legs. He kissed her lips softly before moving back to her neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to her chest. His hands slowly moved from her hips, up her stomach, to her right tit and squeezed it. Megan moaned as she arched her back allowing him to get more in his hand. Ryan took this as an opportunity to take her tank top off and throw it on the floor next to them, followed by his shirt.

They laid there, skin on skin, making out and exploring each other's bodies. 

Ryan pulled down Megan's bra strap and her right tit popped out. It was pink and hard and begging to be sucked on. He leaned down and licked it before blowing on it softly, watching it grow even harder.

Hearing Megan moan made his cock jump, and push against his jeans. Ryan leaned down and sucked on Megan's nipples until she stopped him. 

"Before this goes....any further," Megan said in between catching her breath, "I just want you to know, I've never done this before." She said and she got embarrassed.

"Hey there's no need to be embarrassed, if you want to stop we can, but I would love to be your first" Ryan said and then softly kissed her lips.

Without another word, Megan undid the buttons on Ryan's pants and pulled everything down and smiled as his cock sprung to life.

"I take that as a no" Ryan said laughing and standing Megan up between his legs so he could unbutton her jeans.

He slowly pulled them down and sat back looking at the beautiful sight in front of him. Two big tits, red from being sucked on, and a bald pussy right in front of his face. He could smell her already and wanted, no needed to taste her. 

He smiled and pulled her down onto the couch, getting between her legs. He slowly spread them wider and he carefully brushed her pussy lips with his two fingers, feeling her jump in his arms. 

He parted her lips and found her clit, massaging it gently with his thumb. The moans coming from Megan was almost enough to make him cum right then and there. 

He continued to massage her clit as he brought his tongue to her pussy and started to slowly tongue fuck her.

"Oh my God Ryan" Megan moaned, coming close to an orgasm.

Ryan stopped right in time though. "Are you ready?" he asked smiling up at her.

"Fuck me!" Megan practically begged for his cock. 

Megan was wet enough for the both of them. Ryan stood up and started rubbing his cock against her pussy lips, inching closer and closer to her hole. 

Finally he stopped at her hole and slowly started to push in, inch by inch.

"Holy fuck, you're so big!" Megan cried out and she felt his cock filling her pussy. 

"Just relax" Ryan soothed her as he continued pushing in further. 

He finally got as far as he could and he slowly started going back and forth in her pussy. Moaning with every thrust as Megan's tight pussy was grabbing his cock.

Megan had a rush of emotions she didn't know how to handle, a tear fell from her eye and she started to hold her breath.

"Breathe baby" Ryan said going a little slower.

Megan let out a big breath and just melted into the couch moaning with every thrust.

"I think I'm about to cum" she screamed, gripping the couch. 

"Go baby, cum for me" Ryan said picking up his pace, and starting to massage her clit again.

That was enough for Megan; she let out a loud moan as she fell into her first orgasm. 

Ryan kept thrusting into her over and over again getting faster and he built up. He wanted them to cum together, so he continued rubbing Megan's clit until he saw it in her eyes.

"Are you ready Megan, we're going to cum together!" he whispered in her ear.

She moaned and she arched her back, giving Ryan just the spot he needed. He rammed into her over and over again until they both fell into an orgasm together.

"FUUUCCCCKKK," they both cried out, before falling limp into each other's arms.

They lay together catching their breath and drifted off to sleep, naked, in each other's arms.

This is definitely not the end of Ryan and Megan.



Underneath Erupting Lights



On the streets of Buena Park, California, people with a fondness for customary patriotism expressed gratitude with some undisruptive detonations. As a lifelong tradition, the Fourth of July was alive and well in the city. The street lights didn't become the only ones that provided manmade luminosity. Men, women, and children set their fireworks alight, illuminating the night sky with an onslaught of explosive colors. Entire neighborhoods produced thunderous clatter with high-flying rockets. Plumes of smoke, as a result, rose up to the heavens and partially shrouded the crescent moon with its dark gray shades. Add towering explosions and legitimate bonfires to the mix, and the representation of a battlefield emerged in Buena Park.

Eighteen-year-old Isaiah took pleasure in watching fireworks on every Independence Day. In the suburban neighborhood in which he resided in, he watched as children ran around in circles with sparklers in their hands. Grownups lit their rockets and just watched as sparkling missiles ascended towards and the sky and erupted, leaving behind a brilliant trace of neon colors. Youngsters Isaiah's age went on to light up small fireworks which gave off brief flashes of blinding light. Boomboxes and car stereos played various forms of contemporary music, ranging from Mexican hip hop to vintage American dubstep. Entire families gathered around to enjoy the welcome festivities on this special holiday.

Isaiah, however, had something else in mind tonight. As he observed the smoke and flashing lights erupting on the street, the young African-American man did his best to come to a conclusion for what he would do for the rest of the evening. It all happened when he received a text message from a neighbor, Cliff, who lived just two blocks away. The two of them had known each other for at least a month. It was small talk at first, but their skeptical relationship had shown progression once they expressed their love for hot rods through words. They showed off their posters and magazines featuring some of the most fine-looking automobiles meticulously restored for the twentieth century. Even if Cliff turned out to be seventeen years older than him, Isaiah found himself attracted to such a tall good-looking man. He didn't feel the need to rush towards a more intimate relationship, since they've never invited each other to their own place. The text message may have changed all that.

"If you want, you can come to my place for the evening. I'll be waiting."

It seemed simple, but it said so much.

By eight o'clock, Isaiah had made up his mind. He walked two blocks and reached Cliff's residence. Amidst the high spirits taking place on the street, the young man found the thirty-five-year-old white man on the sidewalk, looking up to the sky and watching the multicolored outbursts that offered a more ethereal stratosphere.

Isaiah cleared his throat and said, "Well, I'm here."

Cliff looked down and stared straight at him. He examined his attire, which had been nothing but black shorts and a white sleeveless undershirt.

"You look good."

Isaiah hoped that his long chest-length dreadlocks, his lack of facial hair, and an overall slim physique would be enough to give Cliff even a mild arousal.

Cliff didn't look bad himself. His brown shoulder-length hair, denim jeans and jacket, and a black t-shirt gave him a more sensual appeal than before.

He looked back up at the sky again. "It sure is a hell of a night as always."

"Yeah, it is."

"It's always good to see the night sky lit up like a never-ending firecracker."

Isaiah looked around to see children waving their sparklers on one side of the street, and a young man showing off his dance moves to his friends on the other. In the far corner, an old East Asian man wearing a thick jacket and a white cap sang what sounded like a slow traditional folk song while his wife stood alongside him and listened with her eyes closed. Up above, larger plumes of smoke gathered in the stratosphere while more exploding rockets continued to illuminate the heavens.

Cliff asked, "Where's your family?"

Isaiah sighed. "They're still at home playing with fireworks."

"Why didn't you join them?"

"To tell you the truth, I wanted to spend the rest of the night with you."

Cliff gave a little smile. "That's all I wanted to hear."

Without another word, he looked away and walked back into his one-story house. He left the door side open, giving Isaiah the legitimate impression that he had his permission to enter the building. Isaiah could see nothing but gold-colored lights that reflected off the white walls and wooden floor.

Isaiah slid his fingers across his long dreadlocks. The sound of the old Asian man singing his traditional composition in a rather raspy voice gave him goose bumps. He took a deep breath as the thunderous uproar from above did little to ease his anxiety. Overlooking the prearranged pandemonium on the streets, Isaiah went inside the house.

Once he closed and locked the front door, he tried to find Cliff's bedroom. The interior of the building felt as warm and moist as the current evening air. Isaiah had found the master bedroom, which was situated at the end of the hallway. He took a peek inside. The lights were turned off. The room had been enshrouded with darkness, with only the light from the hallway producing faint brightness on the floor, walls, and furniture. Cliff had taken off his denim jacket and placed it on top of his chest of drawers.

Isaiah showed himself at the entrance. "Well, I'm here. Is this what you want?"

Cliff gazed at everything below Isaiah's waist. "Come here."

Isaiah obeyed his simple command. He left the bedroom door open as he took several steps forward, immersing himself with the partial darkness. Cliff pulled him closer but with minimal strength, as Isaiah didn't want to flee. The taller and older man wrapped his arms around Isaiah's waist. The young man almost flinched when he felt such solid muscles surrounding his body.

He tried to calm himself as Cliff whispered in his ear, "You're the only one that matters to me. I just want you to know that."

"I should tell you right now...this'll be my first time."

"And who better to do it with other than me?"

It helped Isaiah to unwind. "That makes me feel a lot better."

Behind the closed curtains, the flashing lights of rockets were followed by the sounds of artificial thunder. Just the thought of the frenzied celebrations taking place outside this house inundated Isaiah's body and mind with bold excitement. It persisted when Cliff started kissing him on the neck. Isaiah could only shiver at the unguarded access of such a soft spot. And once they shared a kiss on the lips, Isaiah didn't want to fight temptation any longer. He let Cliff take off his undershirt and slide his hands across his exposed skin. Almost immediately, Isaiah sat down on the king-sized bed and let Cliff take off his shoes and socks. After feeling his shorts and boxers being pulled off of his body, he now found himself naked.

"Is this good enough for you, Cliff?"

The older man stared at the black cock that began to rise up. "I think you've done well for yourself."

All of a sudden, someone from next door had begun to blast loud and upbeat rock music from his stereo. The muffled melodies seeping through the window and walls didn't shake the house, but it almost made Isaiah jump.

"Sorry about that."

Cliff didn't say anything. He closed his fingers around Isaiah's member and slid his fingers up and down with slow velocity. 

"How does this feel?"

The unfamiliar sensation made Isaiah tremble again. He took deeper breaths as he grabbed hold of the blanket.

"It feels good...really good."

Cliff didn't stop with his unhurried tempo. Isaiah could feel his anxiety rising, the contact of warm foreign skin surrounding his cock forcing him to close his eyes and try and control his nerves through mental communication.

Cliff's voice grew hoarse as he said, "It's not gonna hurt at all."

Isaiah believed him. He moaned for the first time once Cliff bent over and kissed the young man's shaft before kissing him on the lips for the second time. He released the grip of Isaiah's cock and murmured, "This'll give you a head start."

In just a few seconds, Cliff lowered his head and planted Isaiah's cock in his mouth. The moist saliva that touched the skin, combined with Cliff's slurping tongue, caused Isaiah to lie flat on the bed with extreme anticipation. He watched Cliff's head moving up and down on his cock, the dim light from the hallway painting half of his body with a more golden hue. Isaiah kept on moaning as his cock grew even harder due to the succulence of Cliff's mouth.

Right when Cliff stopped sucking the black cock, disrupting the process of ejaculation, he asked, "Feel good so far?"

Isaiah was almost speechless. "I just...I...I don't know."

"It doesn't end here."

Isaiah just lay on the bed as Cliff took off his shirt and jeans. The tall muscular man became a bravura visualization brought to life. He joined the young black man in bed, lying on top of him and giving him a long passionate kiss. Isaiah remained transfixed at such a familiar yet awe-inspiring body, even better now that it was fully unclothed.

"I can't believe this is happening."

A little smile formed on Cliff's face. "Believe it, Isaiah. It's already happening. Now, turn around."

Isaiah now lay flat on his stomach. He grabbed the pillow in front of him since he anticipated Cliff's welcome admission. It didn't take long for him to feel a long and hard cylinder being crammed into the outlet between his buttocks. He held his breath, waiting for Cliff's own prick to reach the one spot that would present him with earthly delights. It felt like the entire cock had been pushed deep inside him. At first, it felt slightly excruciating to Isaiah, but once it touched his eagerly awaiting prostate, the mild sting transformed into a guilty pleasure.

"Oh, God! Oh...oh..."

This new sensational feeling became one that Isaiah wanted more than anything. Cliff didn't stop jabbing his solid rod in and out of his companion's hot spot.

"You like that, don't you?"

"Don't stop. I want it!"

Isaiah had envisioned this sort of scenario before, but he never expected it to lighten his mood as much as it did now. As the cock gained momentum, Isaiah's whimpers grew louder. The bed began to make creaking noises, while the commotion outside still didn't give a single signal for its planned expiration.

Suddenly, Cliff pulled his cock from out of Isaiah's entryway and turned him around. They now faced each other.

Cliff brought Isaiah's legs up and repeated his penetration.

"Don't stop! Fuck me harder!"

Cliff's adrenaline overflowed as he pushed his hip with more force than ever before. Isaiah could do nothing but close his eyes with force and let out unabashed moans. He tightened his grip on the bed sheet, still fixated on such a gratifying reaction from inside his body. His current imagination turned out to be nothing like the real thing. His craving for authenticity felt endless.

The fulfilling feeling soon reached its peak several minutes later. Cliff kept his prick deep inside Isaiah once the two of them cried out with pure vivacity. Cliff's lengthy discharge took effect. He collapsed on top of Isaiah. The two of them lay together in bed, the escalated humidity resulting in sweat ejecting from human skin. The distant sounds of holiday rockets had finally died down.

Isaiah whispered, "This has to be the best Fourth of July I've ever had so far."

Cliff chuckled. "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm hoping we can do this again."

"You mean who want to celebrate Independence Day again?"

"I wouldn't say it that way. We can just spend more time together."

"I'm totally up for it."

Cliff and Isaiah remained silent. They didn't want this night to end, but it had to. Isaiah promised his family and friends that he would come back home for a late night movie and snacks. He asked Cliff if he could take a shower in his own bathroom, to which the latter already approved of.



Underneath her Nakedness



Underneath her nakedness beat a modest heart. She had always felt self-conscious taking her clothes off for a boyfriend, and now here she was cavilling at being seen by her sister, who of course had seen her many times like this. But not for some years, not since they were both grown up and become familiar with sexuality. They had talked, but young Sara was more adventurous already than Krystin had been so far, and while Sara told her of her experiments in position, and her chance-stolen kisses, Krystin could not report anything but a new man and good or indifferent sex. She didn't like talking too much about it, nor did she feel she had much to talk about.

Having her sister look at her so appraisingly brought these thoughts home to her, though sex had not occurred in their conversation today. She felt Sara was taking in her body to see how boys would behave with it, and whether she was keeping it in trim for them. However, she needed a shower, and Sara was not in town for long, and they needed to get out and about if they were going to have fun. If it had been the other way round Krystin would have turned away politely.

'Had an interesting experience the other day,' said Sarah.

'Oh?'

'I was sort of seduced.'

'Really? Anyone nice?'

'She was rather.'

Krystin was visibly brought up short by that and was raising her eyebrows for confirmation when she realized that it was firstly rude and secondly not wholly unexpected for Sara; she had suspected from comments her sister had made on friends that she might be interested in straying that way.

But Sara noticed her start, and waved her away with a light smile and, 'Go and have your shower. Go on.' She turned to watch unseen her sister's bottom as it padded appealingly away into the bathroom. The door was left half open, and when Sara walked around the room to admire the new poster on the wall she saw amorphous loomings of her sister's moving body through the steamy glass. In a few minutes the water ceased. She saw dark hair being wrung out, and that drew her glance down to the fuzzy awareness of the pubic hair, quite as alluring through these hinted glimpses, near and yet set beyond a barrier.

'Sort of?' Krystin asked with a smile when she stepped out onto the bathmat and reached for a towel to turban her hair. Water glistened all over her curves and soft skin and dripped down the large expanse of her hips.

'Sort of,' Sara reiterated, standing now at the bathroom door watching her sister with attention, face and body, the lithe twisting of her slim golden arms, the tautness of her pale thighs, the purse of concentration on those lips.

'Meaning you sort of resisted but not too much?'

'That, and… We only sort of did anything. Janine, my singing teacher's sister. The three of us went out after a lesson and drank a bit and I kissed them both.'

'You snogged your teacher?' Krystin laughed. 'I thought she was middle-aged.'

'I didn't snog her, or Janine. Not then. Paula's forty-three or something and very married and very straight. She's got kids I could go for.'

'Um. Male or female?'

'Both actually. Son twenty, daughter seventeen, I'm guessing, and a boy of thirteen who's a monster. But anyway, I'm not after them, you're not listening.'

'I am. I'm drying my hair and listening. Go on.'

'Janine. I met her again at Paula's and this time we thought we'd just go out for a drink the two of us. So we did. We chatted up guys who came to chat us up, as one does.'

'As one does,' said Krystin, who never had, and knew Sara knew it.

'Yeah, so I thought she was interested in them and wanted company and then when we went to the next pub I was surprised she wanted to kiss me.'

'In the pub?'

'No. Between. Dark streets, stopped me under a tree, asked if I minded if she kissed me. Well first I thought she was leaving, not, you know, I thought we were going to another pub, but just a goodbye kiss was fine, same as last time. Only it wasn't.'

Krystin waited for more to appear but her sister had fallen silent. She found it hard to ask for details anyway, and with this revelation she didn't at all know how to ask what the kissing had been like or what had followed. She assumed her sister would carry on if she wanted to. Her hair was as wrung as it could reasonably be and the enfolding towel had absorbed all it was able to; she had spent time on this operation, so much time it seemed, trying to think only of her hair and not any of the rest of her body.

But the tension was in her body, in the weight of her breasts, the tingle within her thighs, and the disorder of her thoughts. When she had stood in the shower before turning it on she had shivered, though the cold was no greater than in her living-room, but she had shivered and wondered why. As the hot water caressed her in rivulets she had touched inside herself with an urgent need for relief, but quickly snatched her fingers away when she saw the half-open door and wondered about the shadow she had seen move. She found herself facing through the glass for most of the time she was in there, turning now her back and now the twist of her buttocks to the indefinite light.

Now the hair was done and the rest of the body needed to be accounted for. She was dry enough, because of her delaying, to walk out to dress with only her feet needing a towel, so having started behaving in this bold way, demonstrating she wasn't absurdly modest about being seen by her sister, she did so. Sara stepped back a little to let her pass but the pass was very close. Sara watched Krystin's buttocks again.

They sat on the bed, the elder sister up by the flowery pillow with her foot flexed up to dry between the toes, Sara silent on the foot of the bed with a full view of a moist pink involution shifting and glistening and mysterious with promise.

'We didn't go to bed,' she said at last in a quiet voice.

Krystin looked up at her to continue. She was fully aware how long Sara's gaze dwelt on each part of her, and was afraid she was blushing. Having sustained the bluff of unconcern this long, to hide herself at all would be worse than foolish. So she sat with sprawled legs after her toes were done, letting the view continue. She took the turban from her hair and began brushing. Now Sara was looking up to her hair, her face. Unusually quiet, and unspeaking.

'Just a kiss then?' Krystin prompted.

'No. The kiss turned into… a lovely, lovely long kiss. Janine knew how to do that. Never had a kiss quite like that. I was so wet afterwards.'

'Face, or…?'

'Both,' Sara laughed. 'And shoulders. It was dark but not that dark, I didn't like being so exposed, I thought she was going to take my blouse off.'

'Hmm. Did she?'

'In my room. I said do you want to go to my place instead of the other pub. I didn't… Don't know how to say this. I didn't want it to go far. Not lesbian sex.'

'Understandable.'

'But I was so excited, wanted it to continue.'

'Ah, so the "sort of", does this mean you went half way?'

Sara nodded and gulped. 'I was just scared. Half of me was saying try it with a woman. If she kisses like this, what… But it was like I'd just been exposed to the idea, and wasn't ready yet. Like being a kid again. First time.'

Krystin laughed, and leant back into her pillow. To make herself comfortable she had to wriggle her back further down and extend her legs straight, close to Sara. She would rather keep her vulva invisible from now on if it was going to behave as it was beginning to.

'I didn't see her body at all, we just kissed and she took off my top and… and my bra.'

'Just a look, or kiss…?'

Sara gulped again and went on, 'She kissed my breasts a few times, you know, gentle beginners' stuff. Then I got cold and when she made for my zip I couldn't carry on, just felt too bad about it. Not bad, just scared.'

'Not ready to go all the way.'

'Yes. So. Anyway, we might see each other again, I don't know, and that was that. My sapphic adventure. Nothing much to it, was there? Not even like what we used to do.'

The words were out of her mouth before she could recall them. She knew at once from the crestfallen way Krystin turned her face to one side with almost a wince that she shouldn't have brought it up so explicitly. She knew that in this context her sister must be thinking of those sessions as intently as she was.

'That was nothing,' Krystin said with a strained voice.

'No, I know.'

'We were just kids.'

'Exploring. It's normal. I bet most sisters do it.'

'It's not sex.'

'No, it's not, of course not,' Sara soothed, 'we were just comparing bits and swapping ideas.'

'Do other sisters do it? Or were we...?'

'Oh come on, you can't call that a sexual relationship. If we weren't related it would be but it was just girls growing up together. Didn't do us any harm,' said Sara, adding after a moment, 'I enjoyed it.'

'So did I.'

'Really?'

'I still think about it.'

'So do I, it was nice.'

'A lot. Too much.'

'What?'

'I think about it way too much,' Krystin repeated, drawing herself up on her elbow and looking at Sara more intently. Her calf brushed Sara's knee and rested there.

'About me?' Sara said in a small pleased voice.

'Sometimes I have lesbian fantasies when I'm masturbating, but I would never do it for real with the people I think about. But you… I think most about you.'

'But you wouldn't do it with me either?' uncertainly.

'We did.'

'Oh, Kryssie, it was masturbation. It wasn't lesbianism, it was just fingers.'

'I loved it. I still want that but I don't want to go after other women. I repress it and think it'd be the same if a man did it. And I like that, men, but I still think of you. Too much.'

'Like I said,' Sara mused, when silence had closed over again, and she was shifting her position and slowly uncoiling so that she was lying on the bed beside her sister, 'I didn't see her naked. I've been looking at you thinking about bodies and what exactly I like and what I would do.'

Krystin moved across to accommodate her, and they lay together, faces turned to one another, warm breath detectable, nudity against clothes. 'What do you want?' she whispered.

'At first I was just looking at you like a female body, the curves, whether I could tongue someone, you know, but seeing you and talking with you, of course all the past comes back and now I wonder what we'd do if we knew as much as we do…'

'Exploring when you know what you're looking for.'

Sara answered by kissing her sister on the lips. She hadn't meant to answer like that, to provoke the crisis, she hadn't even known whether she intended to pursue this in the direction that one or the other might be starting to want. But all of a sudden she knew. A kiss, at least, at least as much as she had given Janine; even if only to compare and practise.

Krystin's kiss was flat and hesitant, with none of the expertise of Janine's, but nor was it reluctant. She lingered. Perhaps she feared that had she let lips drop, attention would rove elsewhere and she would have harder choices.

Events seemed to tumble over themselves here. Sara made a move and Krystin accepted it, not repulsing her. Sara initiated the next and Krystin sighed her joy and consent. As uncertain as ever, Sara threw away caution in her sudden burning perplexity as to what new delight she could pluck for the taking like plump wayside fruit.

Wet strokes of the tongue across the cheek. Velvet union, mouths full, eyes closed, rolling. A hand on the breast, a hand pressing, fingers finding the contours of the breast, gripping, and gripping more as her darling sister cries in response. Sara took Krystin's nipple tentatively in her mouth, then wider, fuller, sucked her in and caressed it with her tongue. Krystin's hand ruffled her hair, clasped her, and moved her head; first deeper on to her breast, then across to the other. Both were deeply reddened and wet by the time Sara pulled her head up and surveyed her naked sister, who returned her gaze with wild eyes and parted lips. Sara dipped slowly down with her tongue extended, entered those lips, and pressed down. Krystin's lower body began to buckle as the pressure of their kiss grew. She was pulling her sister's face down with her hands, rubbing her cheeks, unable to believe how soft and warmly glowing those cheeks felt to her trembling hands. A pulse of heat was pooling in her loins.

With one hand, the one not holding her beloved tightly to her as if they would fuse, Krystin reached to the hand of Sara's that was ripplingly kneading her breast, and moved it downward. Sara's shut eyes flicked open and saw her entreaty; so she slid her hand down and stroked the belly, brushed flat across the pubic hair, and lay upon its dampness, a little finger stroking within one thigh as she felt the wet heat of the other on her thumb.

Together she moved them, and her index finger touched the delicate folds between. She was immersed in memories of touching her sister there and being surprised how quickly and deeply wet it became. And of the gasps that made her stop when she touched the upper part. This time when Krystin gasped she did not leave off touching her, but applied slow caresses with the flat of her finger. As girls this is what they had explored; as women there were now far deeper inward passages free for fingers, and she slipped down now and circled one within her sister's vagina, then two, testing the walls, pushing in and out a little like a man. That, however, she could not do so well, neither expanding nor flooding: a woman's gift was different, it seemed to her then, and after suddenly flushing with eagerness to taste her fingers she felt a headier desire sweep over her.

She tried to pull her head away, unlocking the tongue she had been thrusting imitatively in. Krystin denied her with a squeal and a stronger handhold at first, then when she felt Sara's movement downward, understood and switched to pushing her. Sara breathed openly to recover, then bit her sister on the breast, licked and bit her upper arm, and began to crawl down the bed licking the taut flawless skin along the side of her belly.

'Clothes!' Krystin croaked.

Fluidly Sara stood, unbuttoned and threw off her shirt, dropped her jeans, and paused a moment in her underwear and socks to look over Krystin. She there below held up a slender arm and waved her inward, imploring. The wet white pants, first little sock, second sock, slipped away with a gesture; the slight white bra was unhooked and fell. She had before today felt the unfairness that the unadventurous one's breasts were large and compelling and her own merely petite and sharp-tipped, but today her desire was for the luxury the other gave her. She stood naked before her naked sibling she knew not how long. They were assessing each other with some profound yearning for love.

Her own mouth was parted too, and when she swallowed and felt her throat dry for one absurd moment she wanted a drink to quench her thirst. Then she laughed, inwardly at first then openly, and Krystin's starved lust turned to smiling anticipation. Her legs spread more. The silvery glint of liquid desire was apparent all across her intimacy, and Sara's own vulva was profuse and slick in sympathy. How much she wanted to straddle Kryssie's face and relieve her own ache that built so quickly with every moment she scanned that naked volcano: but she pushed this need away and dropped to her knees at the foot of the bed, then slithered upward. As her head passed the knees, and as they briefly clamped her cheeks in a friendly welcome then opened wider yet, she was assailed by the odour. Old illicit thrills blossomed in vivid memory.

It was so strong she couldn't judge whether it was enticing or off-putting, only intensely strong in animal dizziness. Plunging past discovery she drew her face into the den. Her cheeks were wet, fingers burning imprints into thighs, nose tickled by untidy curly hair, while her whole concentration went to driving her tongue, making it as thick and strong and long as she could, into Krystin's dark vagina, drinking, nectar-feeding, rasping on the inner walls wherever she could reach in the turning of her befuddled lips.

Krystin's orgasm arose like a foaming green wave. Sara emerged from the tropical salt sea to catch breath and to let two fingers plunge again to pick up the oil of Krystin's carnal vial. As she did she scoured her inner labia and let her tongue rest, only rest, on the clitoris, barely palpating it, but sliding those deft fingers along her sister's perineum into a tight harbour that welcomed them, almost drew them in itself so easily did the anus part and reclose.

Sara's knuckles throbbed and stretched in her sister's rectum, Sara's tongue-tip flicked around one side of her sister's clitoris and the other: immediately she was knocked back by the force of an involuntary kick, as Krystin's body rolled sharply, drew up, but remained affixed to her sister by the tugging of fingers against anus. As the orgasm went on and Sara couldn't get her mouth comfortably back there for more than a taste before she was buffeted aside, she struggled to keep her fingers in, half curled back, and gripped with her other hand to keep herself inside her darling.

When Krystin was tranquil below and sighing, her breasts bobbing, Sara dipped down again and began to lick her more gently, labia to perineum, finally releasing her fingers and touching her tongue where they had been. Krystin lifted up on her hips a little to give her better access. Sara's tongue rolled up and down her sister's crack, constantly coming back to the enticing anal musk. Her pressure could not penetrate it. She rose up and leisurely licked the bowl of the vagina, a shallow progress, a patient acquaintance. Its waters painted her. Its aroma overmastered her. The bristly individual detail of each hair against her cheek and nose and eyelash made her weep for sisterly love. She kissed the clitoris, kissed the folds, parting them this way and that.

Sara took Krystin's clitoris and sucked; her sister came very fast and curled up facing away to prevent more stimulation. Sara rolled her over a bit more, parted her bottom, and licked her crack from the other angle. It was delicious: truly delicious. She longed to get her tongue inside. Women's smoothness made this so much more easily lovable. She moved from little love bites over the buttocks to biting caresses around the spine, and crawled up to her sister's shoulders. She kissed them until they both began to drift asleep with the effort and release.

Our fingers crawl around as we doze. A fine stubble and a light sweat in my sister's armpit. Her tongue in mine, my mouth on hers. We begin to revive, inch across each other. Two nipples dissolving in two velvety mouths, clasped by dainty teeth. Two navels, one with a Celtic tattoo and one plain, both being licked and teased and nosed. Two stirrings in the genitals as two mouths graze over rough pubic grasslands and edge forward. We make contact, my sister and I, inner core here above me and inner core down there for me. It is heavenly. A new life. Love as we wanted.

Krystin and Sara came several times more, rested in between, kissed each other and spoke words of adoration. Sara asked whether it would be once off. Krystin told her she wanted to keep exploring her, if that was all right with her. For years, if it was. Sara cried and laughed. Krystin for the first time smelt her fingers after being up there, and licked those of her other hand. They lay on the bed kissing, swirling fingers inside each other for juice, and tasting it from their fingers. The phone rang and was ignored, the light faded, they talked about what other women they would each like to try. Once more when it was dark they moved to straddle each other and eat, and in the dark they fantasized about these others.



Underneath The Dance Floor



"So what's the surprise?" 

Jess was in the back of the cab, next to her boyfriend Erik. 

"Oh, I'm not sure - something someone told me. And if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise." 

Jess wrapped her arm around Erik's shoulders. "You're such a tease, you and your surprises." 

Erik turned and kissed his girlfriend - then kissed her again, raising a hand to her cheek, and then slowly trailing it down her neck, her shoulder, down to the neckline of her black cocktail dress. "I do. Because teasing you always works!"

"Mmmm" Jessica whispered. "Do they, now?" She kissed him on the the neck, and slowly unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, before slowly sliding her hand down his chest, and stomach, to his lap. 

"Every time" Erik responded, mugging, silently thanking himself for the extra cocktails he'd fixed both of them before they called the cab. 

"Well," Jess said, stifling a giggle, "maybe just this once." 

She slowly lowered her head into Erik's lap, as she fussed with unzipping him. 

Erik reached into his shirt pocket, and grabbed a $20 bill and handed it to the driver. "Here's a twenty for keeping your eyes forward and going via Riverside", he said, running a finger through Jess's thick mop of shoulder-length dark red hair, before he stopped caring much about what the cabbie thought. 

-----

Jess wiped her lips with a kleenex, checked her mirror, and got out of the cab as a coyly smiling, deeply-relaxed Erik held the door open. A brisk breeze whipped the hem of her slinky black cocktail dress, giving her goosebumps above the low neckline. 

Erik put his arm around her waist, and they walked to the door. The doorman, a tall, bulky man with a flamboyant neck tattoo and a demeanor that fairly screamed "no nonsense", was keeping a line of twenty-something males at bay. But he cracked a slight smile as Jess walked to the front of the line. 

"ID, please", the bouncer growled in a raspy smoker's voice, with a twinkle in his eye. 

Erik chuckled, as his girlfriend broke into a beaming grin. "Oh, aren't you sweet?" she giggled as she fished her ID out of her purse. 

"29" the bouncer nodded. "You had me fooled!" 

Erik gave the bouncer a good-natured glare as he handed the bigger man the $20 cover. The doorman stamped the backs of both of their hands, and opened the door. "Enjoy your evening." 

-----

It took a while for their ears to adjust to the sound of the nightclub; the booming bass, the pandemonium of the crowd noise, the shouted conversations and orders by the bar. Erik found them a table - it was a crowded night - and ordered her a Sex on the Beach, with a shot of Jack Daniels for him. 

The air inside was warm, and thick with the smell of aggressive perfume and fruity drinks, of sweat and leather. 

"It's been forever, hasn't it?" Erik yelled during a brief gap in the thumping beat. 

"Yeah!" Jess yelled, beaming, taking a long drink. 

"Wanna dance?" 

She polished off her drink in two long gulps. Erik didn't have to ask twice. 

-----

An hour and two drinks later, they were still on the floor. Jess had always been a fluid, expressive dancer - it'd had been one of the things that'd caught Erik's attentio when they first met, four years ago, in a club not much different than this one.  

On the other hand, Erik danced like a white guy - at least until until his second drink kicked in. 

But now, he was bobbing behind Jess, grinding his hips against her ass, his hands around her midsection and stealing the occasional slide up her breasts, as she ground back. 

And then the lights dimmed, and the music slowed down for a romantic jam. 

Jess turned around, and Erik wrapped his arms around her. 

"Nice surprise," Jess whispered into Erik's ear. 

"Oh, going dancing? That's not the surprise."

Jess lifted her head from Erik's chest. "Oh, really?"

Erik smiled. "Ready for the surprise?"

Jess nodded, running her hands over Erik's ass. 

"C'mon." 

Erik took Jess's hand and led her through the teeming throng on the floor, zig-zagging between people in the aisles between the tables, toward the back of the club. He walked through a door under a red, glowing "Exit" sign, with Jess in tow. 

The fire exit was straight ahead - but a stairway went down and to the right, disappearing around a corner halfway down. 

"What is this?" Jess asked as Erik led her down the first flight of stairs. 

"A friend of mine told me about it" Erik responded. 

"What is it?" 

They rounded the landing, and saw two couples ahead of them, waiting at the bottom of the stairway. In front of them stood a bouncer - a large, swarthy man with a shaved head and tightly-trimmed beard. Behind the bouncer was a bulletin board, with about a dozen Polaroid pictures; each photo featured a couple. Across the dimly lit, unadorned room to the right stood two cubicles - like dressing rooms at a clothing store. 

Erik looked at Jess and smiled a wicked smile.

"What is this?" Jess was still confused; her voice betrayed uncertainty, and a little concern. 

The couple below Erik - a stocky 20-something African-American in a navy suit jacket, and a youngish woman with long blond hair and an impossibly sheer dress - were making out passionately; the couple in front of the, a husky Latino and his curvy, dusky girlfriend in a sheer white blouse and skirt, stood silently, tensely, holding hands, whispering nervously. 

Suddenly, a cry erupted from one of the cubicles; a woman's voice, it started quietly, and slowly grew; "Oh, God, Oh God, Oh God..." 

Jess looked at the cubicles; under the doorway of the left cubicle, she saw a woman's knees between a man's legs; under the right, a man's feet, facing to the left; a woman's hands, gripping the top of the divider, and the top of a man's head, bobbing furiously back and forth, protruded above the walls. 

"Are they..." Jess started. Erik turned and smiled, as the woman's cries grew and dissolved into a loud orgasm. 

"Oh, my..." Jess whispered, clutching Erik around his waist. Erik smiled; Jess kissed him, as the sound of a man grunting and swearing rose, and then ebbed. 

"Fawk", said the Latino at the bottom of the steps. 

"Are we...?" Jess started.

"Yeah," Erik whispered. Jess felt a shiver of anticipation, and she wrapped her boyfriend in a warm, intense kiss that had "foreplay" written all over it. 

After a few moments, the rightmost door opened; a tall, muscular white man in a black sportcoat and jeans stepped out backwards, his face all satisfied glee, leading a thin, blushing Asian woman in a black mini-skirt and a camisole top. They held hands as they walked past the couples on the steps; the man's expression full of braggadocio, the woman stepping gingerly. 

The bouncer motioned to the Latino couple. "Stand over here", he said, pointing them toward a bare spot of wall. They stood, his arm wrapped around her, him smiling broadly in anticipation, her face starting to flush. The bouncer snapped a photo. "Have fun!" They walked to the right cubicle, and shut the door. 

"Oh, my God" Jess whispered. "I can't wait". A couple, and then another, filed down the stairs behind Jess. 

"No turning back now" Erik whispered to Jess, his hand stroking her lower back and ass. 

"Good" Jess whispered, stroking Erik's chest. 

The couple at the bottom of the steps - the black man and blonde woman - fell silent as the sound of a man groaning swelled from the left cubicle. "Oh, faaaaaaaaaaaawk!" the man groaned, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Under the right door, Jess saw the Latino woman's skirt drop to the floor. 

"God" Jess whispered. "The anticipation is killing me." 

"Good" Erik grinned, as Jess stroked her hand over his chest, clearly aroused. "Having fun yet?"

"I'm already wet for you" she gasped, her head swimming with anticipation. 

The left cubicle door opened. An older man - fortyish, swarthy, stocky, in a Hawaiian shirt - opened the door, as a younger woman, brunette and stunning and wearing a cream camisole top, picked up her purse. They walked across the floor.

"Hey," the bouncer said to the brunette, pointing at his chin. The woman reached up - and found a small glob of semen on her lower lip. She turned away and hurriedly grabbed a kleenex from her purse, as the bouncer beckoned the next couple to stand by the wall. 

And now Erik and Jess were next. 

As the couple disappeared into the left cubicle, Erik turned and wrapped his arms around Jess's waist, kissing her, running his hands over her back. "I can't wait."

Jess couldn't speak; Erik felt the answer. He stole a glance up the stairs; three more couples waited, looking at the cubicles silently; the man standing behind Jess slowly stroked his girlfriend's breast as they listened. 

And Erik stopped focusing on anything but how he felt with Jess. Their hands roamed each others bodies, over their clothes but reaching much deeper. "I could almost fuck you right here." Jess moaned.

Suddenly, an angry voice drew their attention. A Latina in the right cube was angily yelling something at her partner; after a few seconds, he yelled back. Both were speaking Spanish, both were angry, and in a moment, the door of the cube flung open. The woman stomped out, still yelling in Spanish, as the man frantically zipped his pants and followed, protesting apparently to no avail. 

"Behave, you two!" the bouncer yelled, as the couple climbed the stairs, yelling turning to leaden silence between the couple. 

And Erik felt the jolt before he heard the words; "OK, you two, stand over by the wall, please."

Erik led Jess to the wall, and wrapped an arm around her waist; they smiled as the camera flashed. 

"OK - right cube. Have fun!" the bouncer grinned, taking the picture out of the camera. 

Erik took Jess's hand, and led her over to the cubicle, shutting the door behind them. 

Jess turned, and opened her mouth...

...but before she could speak, a thumping noise rose behind her, along with the sound of a woman - the young blonde with the black boyfriend - moaning and crying loudly, in loose rhythm with the thumping; Erik saw her hands, cupping the top of the wall between their cubicles. 

Jess, her consciousness a swirling mass of erotic overload, clumsily unbuttoned Erik's shirt, pressing his back up against the basement wall behind him; she practically tore the lapels aside, not so much kissing his collarbone, pectorals, nipples and stomach as devouring them with her lips and teeth, as she hungrily undid his belt. Erik lay against the wall as Jess fingers twined into his boxers and wrapped around his already-pre-cumming cock. 

He gasped a deep breath as he unizipped the back of Jess cocktail dress, sliding it down her shoulders. "Fuck," Jess moaned, kissing Eriks' left nipple, then biting it, overwhelming him with warm, sharp sensations.

"Gaaaaaaaawd", the blond in the next cubicle started to moan, as the pounding on the cube wall behind Jess intensified. "Gawwwwwwwwewd"

Erik practically lunged at Jess, pushing her back, pressing her against the cube divider. He gathered up the hem of her dress around her hips and put his hands under her ass - and was startled to feel no underwear. 

"Oh, fuck," Erik groaned, picking Jess up and holding her against the divider, pressing her with the weight of his body. entering her as he pressed her against the thin piece of bucking, vibrating veneer. 

Erik thrust into Jess; Jess winced as Erik pounded into her; as he pulled back, she felt the vibration of the man next door slamming the blonde into the wall, accompanied by her yelling "Gaaaaaaaaawd", louder and louder. It feels like I'm being fucked by two men", she thought briefly, before losing her train of thought, her lips seeking our Erik's chest and neck. 

"Faawk", Erik groaned. 

Jess cried an unintelligible groan.

"Gaaaaawd." the blond woman shouted, louder and clearly teetering on the brink of an orgasm. 

"Daaaaaaaaaamn." the black man groaned, trying to restrain his own climax...

...and, seconds later, failing, with a loud "SHIIIIIIIT." accompanied by an even faster, more frenzied pounding on the divider. 

The sound, and the sensation of her boyfriend pinning her to the wall as they fucked, pushed Jess over the edge; the warm sensation started, and then raced across her; she cried out, loudly and sharply; no words, a series of impassioned, sharp gasps as she clutched Erik with her legs, pulling his head to hers, over and over, gradually subsiding in a morass of wet, quivering sensation. 

Erik kept thrusting. "You like?" he gasped; she just nodded, emphatically, not able to talk. 

Feeling his climax starting, Erik put Jess down, and turned her around; she bent over and put her hands on the bench up against the wall; Erik entered her from behind, his thrusting turning feral, almost animalistic - which brought on another orgasm for Jess, as Erik's thrusting dissolved into throbbing heat; he cried out in a sound that wasn't quite human, but that everyone understood. 

Jess stood as Erik pulled out, and turned, and pulled Erik to her, kissing as their bodies, slick with sweat and crisscrossed with odd bits of unremoved clothing, slid against each other, satisfied and yet wanting more touch. 

They stood for a moment, half naked, looking into each other's eyes, kissing, fingers intertwining, speechless. 

In the next door, a new couple began hungrily undressing each other. 

"Should we go?" Jess purred into Erik's ear. 

"Mhm" he groaned. Slowly, they dressed, straightened up...

...and stepped out into the basement room, under the eyes of four couples, staring at them in a mixture of lust, anxiety and anticipation. 

Erik followed Jess up the stairs; they both were still a little out of breath. 

At the top of the stairs, Erik stopped, his hands around Jess waist. He leaned down and kissed her on the neck. 

"Did you like your surprise?"



Underneath the Mask



She had known him for a while. 

Brian Coleman was the sweet, intelligent, and cute guy you thought of as a nerd until he came into his own as an 18 year old senior. Alex heard him sing in chorus, his deep ringing voice producing chill bumps on her arms. She saw him play piano, and the brilliance and surety that he played it was nothing to be laughed at and left a pang of jealousy inside her. 

She would unknowingly rivet her attention unto him during chorus recitals the school had to attend, and she wondered when the plump, smiling, boyish cheeks had turned into laughing, but serious chiseled cheekbones and when the happy, dancing eyes of the boy turned into the dark, intense orbs that she caught glimpses of through his tousled black hair as he played his music. 

In their senior year of high school, Alex had never let her appreciation for his brilliance in music show, especially when it was something the high school boys laughed at. More specifically, the popular ones she hung out with. 

Through her 18 years of life Alex dated all the guys she was supposed to—the jock, the sex god, the class president. She decided this week she would get the quarterback. She knew she could, and her money, looks, and popularity would allow her to dump him first, and move to the next guy just as easily. 

Friday night she got her quarterback, and they had hot, sweaty, and sloppy drunk sex in the back of his car at the Friday night party she regularly hosted every week after the football game. He had a small dick, probably from steroids, and he barely got it up with the customary condom she always used. 

She didn't cum, and as he bucked and heaved under her as she rode him in the backseat, the only position she allowed—never on bottom, she looked with a distant disgust at the situation and the one of many poor fucks. They were all poor fucks. The sex she had and the bastards she had it with. 

Afterwards he puked his guts out the window as she calmly reapplied her lipstick and walked back to her friends with a knowing, wicked grin. 

They knew Alex—that she didn't give a hell, especially about the occasional fuck, and somehow her reputation never ruined for it. They shook their heads and silently sipped their drinks with petty jealousy. 

Alex walked to the bar in her basement, slammed back another shot, and walked back to the mass of guests. She remained numb, cool, detached. It was for the best. It was just the way she worked.

The next week she saw him at the football game. He came with his new and cute girlfriend. She watched them sit together in the stands as she cheered on the sidelines. She watched as he deftly secured a blanket around his and the girl's legs, and with an easy, confidant grin say something the girl giggled incessantly about. 

Alex rolled her eyes as the girl laughed like an idiot and hotly began to remember what she thought of mindless, dimwit girls that laughed like that. She thought about how stupid Brian Coleman looked with a girl like that. The girl's laugh continued to make her grow angrier, until one of her friends snapped her back to attention. 

She quickly joined back into the cheer and realized she had almost missed an entire routine the team was performing. She felt the rare blush rise in her cheeks at her blunder and the fact that her attention had been riveted on the chorus nerd. So she pushed thoughts of him and his idiot girlfriend out of her mind until it went back to being indifferently numb, and she mindlessly finished the dance.

Brian saw the falter in the cheerleading line and directed his gaze on the little blonde that caused it. "Little" was not the description people usually applied to Alex Taylor, the most popular, witty, and outrageous girl of their school. She was tall, slender and strikingly beautiful, and though her actions and biting remarks were larger than life, Alex had a delicate frame that became lost with her indelicate choices. 

Brian allowed himself to see the delicacy Alex Taylor kept protected under her large personality. He took pride with the knowledge that he had an aesthetic eye that could see through layers until he got a glimpse of true meaning. 

He realized he was probably the only one who saw how smart Alex was in all her classes, how quiet and contemplative she could be when she unknowingly allowed something to intrigue her, to penetrate her. He saw her intense, almost unfocused gaze when he played the piano, and he knew that was the look she got when she truly appreciated something, truly allowed herself to accept something as important and meaningful. He did not contemplate on why he knew these things about Alex Taylor. 

They had gone to school together forever. She was always popular, and he was always the happy, yet unpopular nerd. It didn't matter his baby fat from childhood had grown away in the last few years, and an agile, sinewy, athletic body took its place. He did not use his body for sports or politics or getting girls, and his dedication to the arts was immediately dismissed as unimportant and nerdy. 

He didn't give a shit. Everyone else at that school was so fake and brainless, and Brian was glad they hated him. He found a smart, cute girl that laughed at all his corny jokes, and sang a sweet soprano in his chorus group. She was sweet, and tiny, although not very deep, and she suited his purpose just fine. 

His thoughts went back to the enigma down on the sidelines, remembering something else that had passed this week. He had seen her at lunch, not eating, and sitting alone at an empty table while opening up a notebook. 

Alex's usual lunchroom group of friends eyed her warily, hoping they had not made her mad or that she was in too deep in one of her bad moods to not throw a party that weekend. He walked towards her, curious to see what she was now sketching in a brisk, deft manner onto the beaten notebook she opened. 

He wasn't scared of her infamous moods, and it would not be the first time the two exchanged heated banter throughout the years they'd known each other. Although they did not hang out and were definitely not friends, they had a grudging respect that comes along with being in all the same advanced classes and regularly arguing over a topic in the classroom. 

Brian approached her jovially, peeling a banana as he walked. She didn't have to lift her head to know he was coming and did not break stride in her sketching.

"Brian keep the fuck away from me, you know you're not cool enough to be near me in public," she quipped while lifting wicked blue eyes and a slight smile at him.

He stopped before he could get close enough to see what she was doing.

"Alex, you know I don't give a shit about our school's hierarchy system that you seem to be the tyrannical leader of." She smiled at that blow. 

"Besides," he continued, "I had to see what you've got to be doing over here with such intensity. You never let something take that much of your focus. That is, unless we're in class and I say something. I could say anything and you will argue against me. But what are you doing now?" he asked as he threw his banana peel into a trashcan, and he continued to step closer. 

Her smug grin wavered a little and she slid her notebook out of view.

"That's right. I disagree with you about everything, especially your decision to come closer to me right now. Back the fuck off Brian, I'm not doing anything important, and you're an ugly pain in my ass," she retorted as she slid her notebook farther away.

"Now I have to see this thing," and he reached around her and snatched the notebook away. She shrieked as he grabbed it, and stood up to try to snatch it back. 

He was taller than her 5'8 which was unusual for her height and for the rest of the boys of the school who rarely were able to look down at her as much as Brian. That thought made her even madder and she doubled her attack, but he held her off with his arm as the other held the notebook above his head and out of her reach as he examined it.

"Careful, Alex, you don't want to make a scene and have your friends see us talking." 

"Fuck them, I don't give a shit what they think," but as she was struggling to get the notebook back, she cast a glance at her usual lunchroom table and noticed the furtively astonished faces of her friends. 

She really did not give a rat's ass what they thought of her because they either grudgingly accepted her outrageous decisions or copied them, and they were mindless friends anyway. But she did not want them to see her with fucking Brian Coleman of all people. She angrily sat down.

"Brian please give me that back, it's a stupid drawing and...please just hand it back to me." Her angry voice had dwindled into a pleading whisper.

He looked down at her now after having carefully examined the picture she had been working on. It was good. Surprisingly very good. Although it was still a rough sketch, Alex's depiction of a small beat-up shack house was astounding. 

The small detail she put into the picture was beautiful, dark, unique, and precise, making it not just a good drawing, but something, he realized, she had seen before—a lot, and Brian had felt like he was stepping into a memory. A very intimate and painful memory. He handed her the sketch feeling a little uncomfortable and ashamed he intruded on something he felt was so personal.

"Sorry. Look, I'm really sorry I just took that away from you when you asked me not to. But hell, Alex that is good. Really good. You should try to publish that somewhere. You have some talent."

Alex felt the warmth of hope, and something else, something like pride, rise in her belly and squelched it back down before it could over take her. She grabbed her notebook and angrily stuffed it into her tote. Before she cursed him blue, Alex calmly and indifferently shrugged her shoulders. 

"I told you it was not a big deal, and it's definitely not something I take seriously enough or like enough to try to publish. Back away Nerd Boy, I have cooler people to hang out with." 

And with that she airily stepped around him and joined her table full of friends who seemed relieved she was in a calm mood and no longer talking to Brian Coleman. 

But he caught the tint of fire in her last statement and knew he had intruded on something that was not, "not a big deal." He had stepped into something she cared about and was damned good at. He smiled as he left to make his way to his daily chorus practice.

Brian smiled at the memory as he continued to watch the feisty blonde cheer down below him. She seemed bored now. Bored with cheering, with her friends trying to gossip with her, with the guys leering at her. 

But she had not seemed bored earlier when she had messed up. No, before her friend snapped her back to attention, she had seemed mad. Mad enough to miss a beat in her routine. 

She got feisty like that a lot, but Brian knew she especially got spit fire mad where he was concerned. He knew she was looking at him when she messed up. The thought put a smile to his face, that only partially wavered by the unexpected hand that slid into his. 

A little startled, he turned and remembered Anne was with him, and her hand was a startling cold to the fire he was thinking about. She smiled her sweet smile, and he grinned back squeezing her hand and feeling a little bad about briefly wishing it was not there. But he cracked another joke, and her never ending laugh twitched his nerves a little. 

"What's wrong?" the innocent Anne asked, ever observant in his moods.

"Nothing. Nothing, I'm sorry, I guess I just don't feel well."

"Oh, well it looks like the game is over anyway. Let's go, I have to study for upcoming tests, and you can go home and get some rest. I do want you to feel better." She smiled a tentative smile, and he gave her hand another squeeze and her a bright smile in return. 

"Thank you, that's a great idea. Let's go." He took her hand and led her off her bleachers, losing his smile on the way and feeling like shit. 

He knew he would drop her off at home, but he had no desire to go home and rest. He hated himself, because he did not feel "unwell" and he knew that he was not going home at all.

Earlier in the week, after Alex seemed to have forgiven him for the lunchroom scene, she had approached him at lunch. He looked up as she stood over him and plucked up the book he had been reading alone out of his hands, very similarly to the way he plucked her notebook away from her before. 

She smiled her little wicked smile and said nothing. He waited to see why the brat princess had ventured away, yet again, from her popular crowd.

"You're in foreign territory Princess, what are you doing on the lame side of the lunchroom? Is this an attempt to get me back for the other day?" 

She continued to stand over him and smiling her little wicked smile and holding his book. Not until his eyes narrowed in suspicion and he tried to get his book back did she laugh.

"Don't worry Nerd Boy, I mean no harm." She placed his book on the table in front of him and sat down. 

"I've only come to offer an invitation." She made herself comfortable next to him, seemingly oblivious that the entire school was glaring at her with extreme confusion and whispering amongst themselves as to why she was talking to him. 

He knew better. He knew she was aware that the entire school watched her. That her outfit was a step more bold than her already audacious wardrobe in her bright coral dress that covered her well on top, but was scandalously and definitely against school rules too short on the bottom, coming well to mid-thigh. 

He eyed the outfit with an indifferent appreciation of the gorgeous bronzed legs that seemed a mile long in it, and smiled at what she was stirring up. They may not get along or like each other, but they both shared a "who gives a fuck" attitude when it came to others' opinions.

"What do you want? Have you come to tell me that you want to ravish my manly, naked body?" he smiled as he asked, and she gave a small grin in return.

"Only in your very sweet dreams would that ever happen. What I want to do is invite you to my party this Friday."

His grin collapsed in return. "Are you crazy?"

"Probably, but I am serious. You should come."

"Why would I ever want to go to one of those drunken, idiotic booze fests who are attended by the people who detest me and I detest in return. Alex, we don't like each other, so why would you ever invite me? Especially since I am definitely not one the 'cool' people who attends these things."

She kept her grin in place his entire tirade. "Who cares? My parties are fun, and I thought since you were so interested in my personal life the other day with my picture you might as well get a better glimpse of it. If you care so little for those people I hang out with, then you won't care what they think about you attending my party. 

"Besides, you make me laugh you jackass. But come if you want, I won't care if you're there or not. I just thought you could use a little reprise from your lacking and shitty social life." 

And with that she walked away back to her friends, but as she began talking to one the girls who was chatting excitedly in the glow of Alex's attention, she eyed Brian, smiled, and gave him a sly wink. 

Brain smirked at the memory as he walked with Anne to his car. Preparing himself for Alex's party, he realized that their senior year could not get any weirder than Brian Coleman attending one of Alex Taylor's parties.

Oh, how little we all know...

--------

This is just a little something I typed up years ago that I thought I would post for you in between "Arch Enemies" posts.

Please let me know what you think and if you would like more installments. I really like the relationship between Alex and Brian, and I thought it would be a little different than "Enemies"' couple, Erin and Brady.

Please let me know!

Thank You,

CTBK